


Camelot Reshuffle

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Acts of Petty Revenge That Go Wrong, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coming Out, Community: merlin_writers, Crack, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, Pretending to Be Gay, Pretending to be straight, Snogging, Walk Of Shame That Takes Place In The Kitchen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 08:20:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's current flat mate, darling of daytime TV, and national treasure, Gwen Smith, asks for an innocuous-seeming favour. In which Merlin has an inconvenient migraine, there are inappropriate crushes, and various acts of revenge don’t turn out as originally intended.</p><p>Written for the “pretend relationships” themed challenge on merlin_writers, for this wonderful prompt:</p><p>I need a straight guy to pretend to be my boyfriend for 30 minutes so that I can pull off an act of petty vengeance. Interested?</p><p>Enormous thanks to archaeologist_d for the beta.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Camelot Reshuffle

The studio lights are dazzling him, and the audience swims in and out of focus. Pulsing lights flash and jangle across his field of view. Merlin groans inwardly, realising that he’s developing a migraine, right here in front of a live, studio audience and millions of viewers. He fights to stop his limbs from trembling. How can Gwen do this every day, he wonders? He just hopes that the shirt he’s chosen won’t show the sweat that drips off him, thus betraying his anxiety. He’s glad Gwen’s deflecting most of the questions.

“So, Mr Emrys, how did you meet Gwen?” asks Gwaine Green, his white teeth flashing as they reflect the hot, white spotlights. Merlin winces; this extra sensory overload only compounds the problem with his swirling vision. He fixes a smile to his face, and hopes it doesn’t look too ghastly.

“Erm,” he starts, biting his lip. “I… that is we…, well, Gwen is my… she is just.” He gulps, running his finger under his collar, fighting his rising nausea. “I mean to say. Gwen is the most lovely person I have ever met.” Which is true.

But he can hardly tell them the rest. Not while he’s posing as her fiancé.

The fact is that she rescued him from an ex-boyfriend-induced panic attack in the park one random morning, fed him hot chocolate, and took him under her wing. Then, a couple of months ago when he became homeless, thanks again to Mordred, his ex, may he rot in hell, she let him move in to her flat until he could find somewhere permanent. And what with one thing and another he was still there, because Gwen was lonely now that Arthur had left her, Merlin was hopeless without Mordred, and they were fast becoming the best of friends.

“Well, Gwaine, love,” chimes in Gwen, squeezing his knee, “Merlin is a friend of a dear friend of mine. We met purely by chance at her house, it was love at first sight.”

The audience lets out an audible “awww.” Breathing a sigh of relief, Merlin flashes a grateful smile at her, and the audience “awwws” again when he grabs her hand.

“And tell me, Mr Emrys, it can’t have escaped your notice that the lovely Gwen, as well as being a national treasure in her own right, has a very famous, celebrity ex-fiancé.” Indeed it hasn’t. Gwen’s ex has been a subject of some of Merlin’s most graphic fantasies for several years, now, although obviously he hasn’t told Gwen that. And can’t tell Gwaine either.

Merlin gulps instead. “Erm, yeah? I mean no?”

“This engagement of yours is very sudden, isn’t it?” Gwaine carries on, his voice still gentle. “Gwen and Arthur Pendragon only split up three months ago, after all.”

“Erm, well, yeah, I mean,” Merlin coughs and fumbles at his microphone, which has got caught in his tie, and manages to get his fingers entangled in it, so that it makes a strange booming noise in his earpiece. “Of course, I…I,”

“Arthur and I have remained great friends,” says Gwen, in a cool voice. “Our split was very amicable. My daytime TV filming commitments clash terribly with Arthur’s football training schedule. What with one thing and another we just found ourselves drifting apart.”

Merlin tries not to wince at this blatant lie. He hadn’t been there at the time, but according to Gwen’s best friend, Sefa, there had been an enormous amount of broken crockery. The neighbours still speak in hushed tones about the screeching. He plasters what he hopes approximates a happy grin onto his face.

He can’t believe he let Gwen talk him into this.

When she’d got off the phone last week, all tearful and worried-looking, saying, “I need a straight guy to pretend to be my boyfriend for 30 minutes so that I can pull off an act of petty vengeance. Interested?” he’d of course protested that he couldn’t fit the bill, because, duh, not straight. And yet here he is, live on _Camelot Confessions_ , on the couch with Gwaine Green, no less, professing undying love to his very female, very famous flat mate. His poor mum will be so confused.

“Have you met Arthur, yet, Merlin?” says Gwaine. There’s a hint of something ominous in his voice. Merlin feels a creeping sense of impending doom and his migraine embarks upon its next phase, head-throbbing mixed with crippling nausea, with a vengeance.

“Er no, I mean, not yet.” His voice sounds faint even to himself. Why, oh, why did he agree to this? Gwen is wonderful, and has helped him so much, but his head is killing him, he’s nearly blind from the combined impact of the lights and his migraine aura, and he thinks he’s going to throw up .

“Well then,” says Gwaine, raising his voice and standing up. “Perhaps it’s time you did! Arthur Pendragon, please come on stage!”

Merlin hopes the mic doesn’t pick up the pathetic whimpering noise he makes when two men enter through the stage door—one of them blond, the other dark—and sit on the sofa. Arthur leans across Merlin to shake Gwaine’s hand, plants a kiss to Gwen’s cheek, and then sits down next to him. Merlin blushes furiously underneath the stage make-up. It’s a tight fit, the sofa, so a taut, muscly thigh is firmly pressed to his, and huge, footballer’s shoulders crush his puny, literature-student ones. It’s just as well he’s terrified, and sick, otherwise he’d be sporting an untimely erection. He squeezes Gwen’s hand hard, and hopes that she doesn’t notice the rapidity of his pulse.

Gwen, for once, seems at a loss for words. It seems she hasn’t been expecting this development, either.

“Well, good afternoon, Arthur,” says Gwaine. “Welcome to _Camelot Confessions_.”

“Thank you,” says Arthur. His voice, guh! Merlin has heard him speak before, but with his shoulder pressed up firmly to Merlin’s he can actually feel it vibrating in his chest. It’s warm and deep, with a hint of honey to it. Merlin thinks he might melt with the combined heat of the studio lights and Arthur’s warm body.

“I believe you have something to say to Gwen,” Gwaine says.

“Yes, that’s right.” Arthur clears his throat and turns to Gwen, who’s sitting by Merlin’s other flank. Merlin, who now has a close-up view of the face that has inhabited some of his most depraved fantasies, licks his dry lips and swallows, heart hammering.

“Gwen, I am sorry for what I put you through. It was ungentlemanly of me,” says Arthur. “The truth is,” his voice wavers a little. Merlin realises with a jolt that Arthur Pendragon, legendary centre forward for Camelot United, the most prolific goal scorer in the Premier League, the man who has been capped for England 25 times, known to all as “Pen the Boot,” is nervous. His heart melts a little.

Arthur clears his throat. “The truth is, Gwen, that I haven’t been entirely honest with you. Not with anybody. I haven’t even been honest with myself. It has been a difficult decision for me to take, but I have decided that the time has come for me to speak out.”

When he gulps, Merlin can see his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and for some reason it makes his chest ache.

“The truth is, Gwen, that I am not the man you think I am. I have been living a lie.” Arthur is breathing deeply. Merlin presses his arm up against his, and turns to him, trying to look reassuring.

“I am gay, Gwen. I couldn’t marry you, not in all conscience. This is my new boyfriend, Lancelot.” Arthur ignores the gasps in the audience, and grabs the hand of the man sitting to his left. “I just want to apologise again. None of this has been your fault. It is difficult for a professional footballer to be honest about his sexuality, even in this modern era. But I felt that it was time for me to be honest with you, to come clean about my preferences, and to be a role model for gay footballers everywhere.”

Merlin’s first urge is to turn and plant a loving kiss on this courageous man’s silky, dark-blond hair, but he’s unable to react fully to his heart-melting speech, because the migraine has returned in full force. He can hardly hear a thing. He’s vaguely aware of Gwen’s shocked sobs, of his own pulse throbbing in his temples, and of the audience erupting in a symphony of surprise.

“How can you humiliate me like this, you bastard?” Gwen is shrieking, and Lancelot, the dark man who came on stage with Arthur, is holding Gwen’s hands, trying to stopping her from hitting Arthur. Gwaine stands on one side of the stage smiling at the audience, at the chaos that he’s unleashed.

But Merlin can’t really focus on anyone right now. His migraine has caught up with him. He’s going to throw up. He’s going throw up, he’s going to throw up. Live on national TV. Oh no.

He stumbles off the studio stage, hand to his mouth, and crashes to his knees on the floor just off camera, heaving.

“Someone get him a bucket,” he hears a voice shouting, a long way off, and thankfully they do, just in time.

Later, after he’s deposited the entire contents of his stomach in the bucket, after filming has stopped, the studio audience has quietened down and filed out, and the crew and cameramen have all started to clear away, a handsome face topped with blond hair wobbles into view, blocking Merlin’s watery gaze for a second.

Arthur “Pen the Boot” Pendragon.

“Bloody homophobe,” hisses this vision’s gorgeous mouth, and then it disappears before Merlin can explain about the migraine. He sinks to the floor, morosely eyeing the contents of the bucket.

Gwen’s hand is on his back, rubbing it in comforting swirls.

“Sorry,” he whispers, “migraine.”

“No, don’t apologise. It’s me who should be sorry, Merlin, and bloody Arthur, pulling that stunt, God! I had no idea Gwaine was going to spring that on us. He was meant to be doing me a favour, the bastard. Well, the ratings war has taken a dark and sinister turn. I’m going to have to dig up some dirt for his appearance on _Good Afternoon with Gwen_ next week,” she says, ominously. “And since when does Arthur have such a gorgeous new boyfriend anyway?”

“Arthur. Brave. Golden. Gorgeous. Hot!” Merlin moans. He’s unable to string a coherent sentence together, but he’s beginning to feel a bit less nauseous now. He knows from experience that he just needs to sleep. “Sick. Headache. Lights! Sleep?” He looks pleadingly at Gwen.

“Come on, you,” Gwen says. “I did wonder if you were feeling OK when you started squinting at Gwaine, and I should have known you weren’t well when we couldn’t get you to speak. It’s most unlike you! You poor, dear, silly man, you should have said. I’m so sorry I put you through that. Let’s get you home.” Someone else is with her, someone Merlin has vaguely identified as Arthur’s new boyfriend, who apparently is some kind of doctor, and between them they haul him to his feet and manhandle him into a waiting taxi.

Merlin’s almost asleep when they get back to their apartment, and is only peripherally aware through the throbbing in his head that Lancelot is still there to escort him up the stairs and into his bedroom, and that he can hear Lancelot’s voice in the kitchen while he falls asleep.

~#~

He’s miserable for a day or two after that, and doesn’t want to confide in Gwen. She, however, appears to be strangely chirpy, despite the drama, the paparazzi, and the headlines, and is spending a lot of time texting.

“What’s the matter,” she says, one evening, voice sweet and soothing. “Go on. You’re going to tell me, anyway. You might as well get it over and done with.”

She’s softened him up with wine and chocolate ice cream. They’re sitting on the sofa, sharing a second tub, and watching “Strictly Come Dancing”, because they enjoy drooling together over the professional male dancers and their tight buttocks. Gwen’s plotting which one to invite onto her show next. In between dances, she torments Merlin with her gentle questioning.

“Go on,” she says again, eyes all soft and kind.

He sighs, and shakes his head mutinously _._ She ignores it.

“You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone. It’ll feel good to get it off your chest.”

“No! I don’t want to talk about it.” But he feels his resolve thawing. He can’t resist her when she’s being sweet like this. No-one can. And this, this right here, is why she’s a demon interviewer, national treasure, and darling of daytime TV.

“A trouble shared is a trouble halved, you know. It’s a cliché for a reason. And the reason is that it’s true.” She flashes her dimples at him and delivers the killer line with a gentle nudge to the elbow. “It’s all right. You can trust me.”

“All right, all right!” he says.

Once he’s given in, it’s like opening sluice gates, he just can’t stop the words from flooding out. “It’s just… I feel awful, that’s all. Arthur came out, on live TV! With that beautiful speech! And I know he’s your ex, and everything, Gwen, and it was awful for you, but I couldn’t help it, I felt so proud of him. It must have taken such courage, you know. God, I was even sick coming out to my mum! And he came out to six million people all at once! And he thinks that I hate him, and that I’m a homophobe, but I’ve always dreamed of meeting him, because, well, guh! And now I have, and he’s gay! And he’s so gorgeous, and a footballer. But he hates me.”

His voice wobbles a bit. Gwen hands him a tissue and he blows his nose gratefully. “Plus I’ve always wanted to meet him. He was even more handsome in the flesh than I imagined.”

“I didn’t even know you knew who he was,” she says, voice still low and kind. “You don’t even follow football.”

“I don’t follow football, I follow footballers,” he replies. “But I don’t mean in a creepy, stalkerish way. I swear. Just in an interested, nice abs, tidy arse, muscular thighs kind of way. Especially the gorgeous ones… I mean the ones who do a lot of modelling… the ones who have lovely eyes... and blond hair…” Arthur. He means Arthur. He doesn’t follow any other footballers. Just this one.

He’s watched the recording of the show several times. In it, Arthur is so humble, delivering his lines with just a hint of a tremor to underline his humanity, that he’s either a brilliant actor, or that rarest of things, a genuine, wonderful, sweet man. Merlin, on the other hand, wedged between him and Gwen, comes across as a complete imbecile. He always stops the clip just before the bit where he rushes off stage with his hand pressed to his mouth.

Gwen gives him a knowing look and pats his knee. “It’s all right. At least I know now the real reason why he dumped me,” she says. “And it’s funny, really. Now that I know, his behaviour when we were engaged makes so much more sense. Poor Arthur, he must have been so conflicted. God knows what his father is going to say. Of course I don’t mind you having a crush on him.”

He gapes at her.

“Whoa!” he says. “I never said that! I mean… I… well, any hot-blooded gay male would want a piece of that arse, obviously, but I don’t have a crush on him! I just think he’s so brave, and he smelt amazing. And his voice is all deep and gravelly, with a hint of power to it, and his eyes are really intense, obviously, and his hair looks so soft, I’d like to touch it, I bet it feels silky and… his abs are ripped… and his thighs are so… I’d love to taste…” he cuts off his train of thought before he incriminates himself any further. “But that’s all, I mean, it doesn’t mean I have a crush on him. Does it?”

Oh.

He puts his head in his hands and wails.

“God, I do, I really, really do,” he says. “And he hates me. I am such an idiot!”

“Poor you,” says Gwen. “Lance was so sweet afterwards, wasn’t he? I am so pleased that Arthur has found such a lovely man.”

“Lance? Do you mean Lancelot? You’re awfully familiar all of a sudden.”

Gwen blushes.

“Well, I have bumped into him a couple of times, and we exchanged numbers.”

“You bumped into him? How exactly does a famous afternoon TV presenter, darling of the tabloids, and national treasure just ‘bump into’ a Médicins Sans Frontières doctor?”

“Well, all right, he stayed for a cup of tea after we brought you home,” says Gwen, picking at a suddenly mesmerising—and damn near invisible—piece of fluff on her jeans, “and we have met up a couple of times for coffee. He’s going to come on my show for an interview about his work. That’s all.”

He looks at her, mouth open. He’s not fooled by her offhand manner. Not for a second.

“He’s also gay,” says Merlin. “Gay, and going out with your ex-fiancé, I shouldn’t have to remind you…” He smirks. Two can play the candid interrogator game. He nudges her until she blushes even more furiously. “I’m not the only one in this room with a hopeless, inappropriate crush, am I? Go on,” he deliberately echoes her earlier words. “You can tell me, I won’t tell anyone. You can _trust_ me.”

She stares at him for a second or two.

“I’m such a bad person,” she says, eventually breaking eye contact, and furiously cramming the remains of the ice-cream into her mouth. “And so are you, Merlin Emrys. I really don’t know why I put up with you!”

They exchange a look and burst out into howls of laughter.

~#~

The following Saturday, Gwen says she’s going to have a heart to heart with Arthur, and really sort a lot of things out, now that she thinks that she can speak him without screeching. Merlin, on a whim, decides to go down to the Avalon club with his friend Percy for a gentle evening of light-hearted cruising. He hasn’t felt comfortable going out clubbing since he broke up with Mordred, besides which he’s been studying too hard, but he’s just handed in an assignment, so he deserves a bit of fun. Who knows, maybe he’ll get lucky?

He and Percy take time dressing. Percy decides on a sleeveless leather gilet which shows off all his assets, while Merlin wears tight leather trousers to display his. They inspect one another in the mirror, and are happy with what they see.

“Looking gorgeous, darling,” says Percy, touching up his eyeliner, to Merlin’s reflection.

Merlin pouts at him, and they grin at each other. They suck down a couple of bottles of beer and then hit the street. Merlin loves going out with Percy. He feels invincible with all those muscles at his side.

The Avalon club is dark, with all sorts of convenient alcoves and corners to hide nefarious activity. But Merlin’s not interested in those, not tonight. It’s the dance floor that beckons. He and Percy hit it, manic grins plastered to their faces. For a while Merlin lets himself drown in the intoxicating hedonism of dance music, mixed with beer, and with interested eyes, hands and bodies.

~#~

Lancelot has never felt more uncomfortable about his pretend relationship with Arthur than he does at this moment.

He’s had a celebrity crush on the luscious TV goddess, Gwen Smith, for several months now. When Arthur moved into his flat after his break-up with her, Lancelot confessed about his crush. That was the night that Arthur let down his guard and told Lancelot that he was gay, and considering coming out of the closet. Together, they hatched this ridiculous plan for coming out on TV. At the time Lancelot had been happy to support a friend in such a noble aim, delighted really. But now he just feels hollow in the pit of his stomach about deceiving Gwen. And here they all are, all three of them, in a private balcony at the Avalon club’s infamous gay night.

She has such kind eyes, currently hidden behind gold-brown ringlets. He wants to reach across and tuck the wayward tress behind her ear, just so he can lean down and kiss her eyelids.

To be honest, he only agreed to do the whole fake-boyfriends thing so he would have an opportunity to meet her. Grateful though he is to Arthur, he feels that it is time for this ridiculous charade to end. Clearly Arthur feels otherwise, because he’s dragged Lancelot to Avalon, and has been holding his hand all evening.

Arthur and Gwen have been talking, which was important. They’re apologising, and shaking hands, and sorting out custody of their CD collections and furniture. In fact, the evening has been a great success so far.

Arthur goes off to the loo, leaving Lancelot talking to Gwen about his forthcoming appearance on her show. And that’s when Lancelot spots him, down on the dance floor. His mouth drops open. That traitorous, lying, deceiving, conniving bastard. Gwen’s current fiancé.

Merlin.

Dancing. Obscenely. With a man the size of a mature oak tree. And a cute blond. And a brunette. And an impish-looking Asian guy. And about ten others.

Lancelot’s eyes widen when he sees what they are doing with their bodies. And hands. Well. He hadn’t realised that gay night could be quite so refreshingly… open.

Gwen cannot see this. It will break her fragile heart. He looks across at her, sitting obliviously chatting to the waitress, and is suddenly furious. How dare Merlin treat her like this? Gwen is a wonderful, warm, frankly gorgeous woman, the most beautiful, kindest person he has ever met. She doesn’t deserve to be royally shafted by yet another fucked-up bloke who is secretly clamouring to be let out of his self-inflicted closet. Lancelot is mighty fed up with this whole situation.

When she looks like she might be curious about what’s going on down there, on the dance floor, and edges towards it to take a look, he does the only gentlemanly thing he can think of to distract her. He grabs her shoulder and pulls her to him, fastening his lips on hers, and is pleasantly surprised when, instead of slapping him, she melts into his embrace and returns it with enthusiasm. And tongue. And hands.

Wow.

~#~

Arthur’s on his way back from the loo when he sees the boy. He has his back to Arthur. His body is all long lines, sinuous grace. His head is thrown back, arms cast loose in abandonment, legs tantalisingly clad in tight leather. He’s dancing sensuously, lost in the music and the ecstasy, in the thrill of writhing bodies touching him and being touched. Arthur watches, fascinated, feeling himself harden.

And then the boy turns, lights flashing on his long, pale neck, glistening, a sweaty, shimmering sheen. Arthur, mesmerised, wants to dip in and suck it, taste its salt.

Until he sees his face.

Merlin.

Gwen’s cheating, lying, deceitful, and by the look of it thoroughly non-heterosexual fiancé is dancing in the most obscenely erotic fashion Arthur has ever seen.

Furious, Arthur talks down his erection and stalks across the dance floor, gyrating bodies letting him through, like Moses parting the Red Sea. He stands there, arms folded, waiting. Waiting for Merlin to notice him.

~#~

Percy’s disappeared off into an alcove with a red-head. Merlin’s grinding enthusiastically against a gorgeous blond guy’s arse, wondering whether he can take this any further, when he becomes aware of someone’s gaze boring into him. He looks up, surprised, and locks eyes with Arthur Pendragon. He is stationary, two metres away, heedless of the heaving, flailing mass of masculinity that surrounds him. He’s glaring at Merlin. He’s like a sullen, pouting rock in a sea of happy testosterone. He looks furious, glowering, absolutely stunning, his cheekbones and jaw stark in the harsh disco lights.

Merlin swallows, slows his wild dance, and comes to a standstill, staring.

Arthur wades into the morass, grabs his wrist, and pulls him out. He stalks away, tugging Merlin with him. He drags him into a quiet-ish alcove and pulls him round, cramming him up against the wall, so that Merlin can feel his breath cool on his sweaty neck, feel the full length of his firm, hot body. He yanks Merlin’s arm and twists it so that he howls in pain.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” Arthur says, jaws clenched, voice a low hiss.

“Right now I’m being assaulted by a fucking maniac. What the fuck does it look like?” yells Merlin, furious, desperately trying to wriggle out of Arthur’s iron grip. _Where the hell is Percy when I need him?_ he thinks.

Arthur yanks his arm again. “Wrong. What you are doing is lying to your fiancé, you weaselly cheat. And there was I thinking you were a homophobic arsehole. Obviously I was wrong. You’re a closeted, cheating arsehole.”

Ah. Now Merlin gets it.

“I can explain,” says Merlin. “There’s no need to be such a prick about it.”

Arthur yanks his arm savagely.

“Ow!” says Merlin. Tears prickle his eyes. “You’re hurting me. Stop it!”

Arthur’s mouth is a thin line. “Gwen is a wonderful woman. I feel bad enough that I was lying to her. And now I find that you are doing the same! How do you think that’s going to make her feel? At least I had the decency to finish our relationship before seeking the next one.”

“It’s not like that!” Merlin protests, hotly.

“No wonder you threw up on _Camelot Confessions_ last week. You’re so deep in the closet that you were terrified. Go on, admit it.”

“I had a migraine!” Merlin yells, frustrated. This is so fucked up.

Arthur presses harder up against him, and he can’t help himself. The subject of his most explicit and perverted fantasies is pressed hard up against him, firm and insistent, hot and flushed with righteous anger. He can feel the outline of every muscle through the sheer fabric of Arthur’s damp shirt, can smell his cologne, his shower gel, the beer on his breath, his sweat. Merlin’s nerve endings are already buzzing from the alcohol, the adrenaline of being dragged away, the music, the dancing.

Merlin’s only human. He’s got an erection you could drill holes with.

Arthur must be able to feel it. Merlin rolls his hips minutely and is handsomely rewarded when Arthur lets go his arm, pushing his thigh in between Merlin’s legs.

“A migraine,” growls Arthur “doesn’t explain why you are cheating on your fiancé.” The heat has not left his gaze, and there’s something else in it, something predatory that makes Merlin shiver, despite the oppressive atmosphere of the club.

“I’m not Gwen’s fiancé,” he says. “Never have been. I’m gay. I don’t go for women, really, however lovely.”

He bites his lip; Arthur’s eyes follow the movement, and he’s breathing fast, each pant cool against Merlin’s neck, wafting up towards his ears, making them tingle.

“I’m her flatmate.” Merlin goes on, knees weak.  “I just pretended to be her fiancé. You know. Because she wanted to…” he gulps, because Arthur is still holding him so tightly, and the feel of his breath is making him shiver.

He feels a shift in Arthur’s stance and lips ghost up his neck, towards his ear. “Nnngh,” he says when Arthur’s tongue snakes out and circles the stud in his earlobe.

“Wanted to do what?” said Arthur, drawing away and smirking at him, his gaze on Merlin’s lips, tongue flicking out to lick the bottom one. Merlin can see his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down when he swallows.

“Make you jealous,” Merlin breathes. Arthur is too far away now, he thinks. His hands snake out to remedy that, one round Arthur’s waist, pulling him back in, pressing their bulging groins together, the other round Arthur’s neck. He groans when their lips finally meet, needing this, wanting this more than he can say.

“You succeeded,” Arthur says in a whisper, sweeping Merlin’s face with a dark-eyed intense gaze. “Saw you sitting there, all innocent-looking, all long-limbed and gangly. Felt your thigh, hot and bony. Ridiculous ears. Sharp Cheekbones. Those lips. God. I was jealous all right. Jealous of Gwen for finding you.”

“But… Lance?”

“You mean my perfect, straight, fake boyfriend?”

“Oh.” Merlin lets a wry grin tug at the corners of his mouth. Arthur sees it, touches it with a finger, swoops in behind it for a demanding kiss, lips and tongues insistent. “So,” says Merlin. “What say you we… carry on this conversation somewhere a bit more… private?” he raises a hopeful eyebrow. “After all, we can’t have the paparazzi getting hold of this, now, can we?”

“Yeah, OK” says Arthur, grinning. “Why not?” Merlin returns his grin. It’s infectious. And kissable.

But wait. Percy. “Just a minute, gotta tell the person I came with,” Merlin says, parting lips for just a moment.

“Yeah, me too.”

Merlin fires off a text to Percy.

_I’ve pulled. Don’t wait for me!_

Arthur frowns as he pulls out his phone, but when he looks at it he laughs. He shows Merlin the text from Lancelot.

_I’ve taken Gwen home. CU later. Lance._

“Damn, looks like Gwen’s going to be in when we get back. Shall we go to your place?” Merlin says.

“Yours is nearer.”

“We’ll have to be really quiet, the walls in Gwen’s flat are like cardboard.”

“I know. Tell you what, I’ll gag you if necessary.” Arthur raises his eyebrow suggestively and lets his gaze drop down to Merlin’s mouth again. When Arthur’s tongue emerges to moisten his own lips, Merlin gulps.

They don’t lose any more time.

~#~

Lancelot can’t help being disgusted at how the men in Gwen’s life have been treating her. She was putting a brave face on things, but it must have been awful for her when Arthur had come out on camera like that. He feels so much better now he’s told her the truth.

She takes it well. “I see,” she says. “So you’re not gay then.” Is he imagining things or is there a relieved smile on her face when she says that? “And Arthur?” she adds, eyebrows lifting.

“Is gay, yes. But single,” he replies. “He just wanted me there with him for moral support, really. And to make it clear to you that he meant it, about being gay. I’m so sorry that I went along with it. It must have been terrible. Can you ever forgive me?” Lance says, over the thumping baseline, cupping her soft cheek in his hand.

Her lips are soft when he dips in to kiss her, and her eyes flutter closed.

She shrugs. “It wasn’t so bad,” she says. His heart swells at her courageousness. “I feel worse about poor Merlin and his migraine. Besides, I rather think I can forgive you anything, Lancelot DuLac,” she says, pulling back and smiling so that charming dimples dot her cheeks, and her eyes sparkle in the disco lights.

“Merlin?” He pulls a face. “I wouldn’t worry about _him_!” His eyes can’t help flicking to the dance floor, where Merlin is still putting on a bit of a show. Curious, Gwen turns to look. He tries to stop her, but she pulls out of his grasp. She must have seen Merlin, but instead of being upset, she laughs and turns back to Lance.

“I have a confession to make too, Lancelot. I have to tell you that I’m not completely blameless in this whole affair. I’ve never actually been engaged to Merlin Emrys.”

“You haven’t?”

She shakes her head, so that her ringlets bob prettily, and puts her mouth to his ear, breath tickling him. “Don’t tell Arthur. But I’m single. Merlin’s my gay flat mate. I was just trying to make Arthur jealous.”

Lancelot’s mouth drops open as the realisation hits him. “Oh! Then you… and he… aren’t… which means you… Oh!” He smiles. “Naughty girl!” He starts to laugh, then. “I thought he was two-timing you!”

“Merlin? No! He’s just having a good time.” She starts to laugh too. And then he kisses her again, and the giggles turn into breathless moans, and dear God, she has no idea what effect she has on him when she does that with her tongue.

“You’re so beautiful. Please. Come home with me,” he says. He’s never wanted anything more in his whole life. “You have no idea how happy I am that you’re single. But I strongly feel that a strong, kind, brave woman like you should not remain so.”

“Forward,” she replies, smiling into his mouth.

“I prefer to think of it as ‘direct’”, he smiles back. “Please. I couldn’t bear it if you said no.”

“But what about Arthur?”

“I’ll warn him,” says Lancelot.

He fumbles in his pocket and quickly fires off a text to Arthur, and they slip out of the back door into an anonymous cab.

~#~

Merlin yawns and stretches. They managed to keep super quiet when they came in last night, not wanting to wake Gwen, shushing and giggling as they tiptoed into Merlin’s bedroom, silently exploring each other’s bodies in the privacy of Merlin’s bed.

And now it’s a sunny Sunday morning, and he’s sore in all the right spots, happy and sated. He turns and flutters proprietorial fingers across Arthur’s warm, wide shoulders, and grins with delight. A delicate sprinkling of nearly-invisible freckles peppers Arthur’s golden skin. Slowly sliding the duvet off Arthur’s body is like unwrapping a gift, and Merlin finds his mouth watering at the tempting prospect it offers. Arthur turns and flashes him such a sleepy grin of such unutterable sweetness that it pierces Merlin like a thorn. His breath catches a little.

“What?” whispers Arthur.

“Nothing. Just… nothing!” Merlin says, quiet as he can, shaking his head and lowering his gaze to hide his confusion. Arthur captures his chin with a hand, makes Merlin look at him.

“God,” Arthur whispers, swallowing. “Look at you… with your hair all mussed up and your lips all pink and swollen, just. God.” He pulls Merlin back down, and wraps strong arms around him.

They are about to kiss when they both look up at a sound. It sounds like the front door opening. Gwen must be on her way out. When the door slams, they look at each other and smile.

“I think that’s Gwen going out,” says Merlin, not whispering any more. “No need to be quiet any more, we’ve got the place to ourselves.”

When Arthur takes him into his mouth, licking and sucking at him tentatively at first, and then firmly, growing in confidence, Merlin cries out at the feeling, he can’t stay quiet, because he’s drowning, lost in the flood of sensations that cascades through him. He’s panting, keening so loudly now, he just can’t, he just can’t.  His vision narrows to a white point and it’s perfect for a long moment, he’s not sure how long, but he wants it to last forever, because _Arthur_.

What with one thing and another, and (let’s face it), another, Merlin’s quite tired and can’t help but drowse, encircled in Arthur’s warm embrace and the soft bedcovers.

~#~

All that exercise has given them a bit of an appetite. So Merlin takes first shower, and then while Arthur takes his turn, Merlin pads into the kitchen in his towel, in search of coffee and food.

He’s not sure who’s more terrified when he comes face to face with Gwen and Lancelot at the kitchen table. They’re mid-snog, and spring apart when he comes in, hastily readjusting their scanty clothes. Gwen’s wearing a several-sizes-too-big “Médicins sans Frontières do it on the front line!” t-shirt, while Lance appears to be wearing a pair of Gwen’s pink, ladies pyjama bottoms, embroidered with penguins, and very little else. They reach down to just below his knee; his hairy ankles and feet protrude from the bottom.

A tantalising aroma of coffee rises from the machine.

“Merlin!” Gwen chokes. “I thought you were asleep! I mean, you must be tired after. Well. You know. It sounded tiring. What you were doing. I mean…God.”

“G…G…Gwen! I thought you’d gone out!” stammers Merlin, hot and flustered.

She shakes her head. “Stayed at Lancelot’s,” she says, blushing. “Got in a couple of hours ago.”

“Ermmm…” says Merlin, panicking a bit, trying to remember how noisy he’d been after the front door went, then wishing he hadn’t, “I’ll just…” he begins to back out, hoping to warn Arthur, but is too late obviously, because there’s a warm presence coming into the kitchen behind him.

Arthur. Wearing just a pair of Merlin’s slightly-too-small underpants.

Lancelot’s standing up, now, looking about as embarrassed as Merlin feels.

“Arthur!” Lancelot says. “I didn’t know you… erm, I mean. Well. This is.” He hitches his too-tight, fluffy, pink pyjama bottoms, and looks like he wishes the floor would swallow him up.

“Awkward,” Arthur finishes.

There’s a long pause before anyone says anything else. Merlin presses his hand to his mouth, as if to try to stifle the shameless noises he’d been making earlier.

A vision pops, unbidden, into his brain and he starts to snigger. Soon he’s snorting through his fingers.

“Oh God, oh God!” he says, tears in his eyes.

“What’s so funny?”  

“Just imagine,” he manages to choke out. “ _Camelot Confessions_. Gwaine Green. What would he say? ‘So, Mr Emrys, how long have you been shagging your ex-fiancé’s ex-fiancé?’” He lets his hand drop and peals of laughter ring out round the room.

Arthur starts to laugh too. “So, Gwen Smith, national treasure! How long have you been heteronormatively shagging your ex-fiancé’s gay boyfriend?”

The two of them hold on to each other, howling with laughter. But Gwen and Lancelot are curiously silent. When Merlin looks up, Gwen has a calculating look in her eye.

“Hmm,” she says, honey-voiced. “I’ve got a much better idea. How the three of you appearing on _Good Afternoon With Gwen_ next week? After the stunt you and Gwaine pulled on me last week, it’s the least you can do, right Arthur? We’ll kick Gwaine right where it hurts. In the ratings.”

Merlin gulps, laughter dying away.

Gwen links her hands with Lancelot’s. He’s gazing at her adoringly. Merlin half expects him to wag his tail.

“What do you say, Lancelot?” says Gwen, dimpling sweetly at him. “I need a straight guy to pretend to be my boyfriend for 30 minutes so that I can pull off an act of petty vengeance. Interested?”

Pointing an accusing and slightly wobbly finger at her, Merlin feels his towel start to slip, and has to move his hand hastily back down to retrieve it.

“Oh no!” he says, covering himself. “Not again! Lance, don’t do it. Don’t trust those dimples! It will escalate, I warn you! Take it from me, I know… I strongly advise…”

But Lancelot nods and smiles, eyes twinkling. “No pretence required,” he says, bending to claim her lips in a possessive kiss.

~End~


End file.
